So, of course now that I don’t have insurance, I have all the problems.

I had fallen down about 4 months ago and I was already dealing with enough anxiety related to the PTSD, but this was something new.

I have never had any problems with bones or joints in my life, so I ran around from one place to another, seeking help. I knew something was wrong, because all of a sudden I woke up one morning and couldn’t lift my arm. I had excruciating pain. I had finally gone to get an MRI and was informed that I had a torn rotator cuff. Geesh, that even sounds painful. I was told that I would need to see an orthopaedic doctor and when I went to see him, he looked at the x-rays and told me that I had an extremely frozen shoulder.

Hey, I remember this, I thought. A guy that was the father of one of my son’s friends told me last year that he had his third shoulder surgery for this ailment. I had to laugh when I thought about him, because it sounded so trivial and yet this guy had scars all over his shoulders. He told me that he had very limited movement in them. Well, I wondered, why bother with surgery?

I immediately started researching this strange malady and found that it is a problematic condition and it is very painful. Now I wasn’t thinking this was so funny.

I would wake up in pain and go to bed in pain. The only good thing is that it would distract me from my anxiety regarding my other condition. It also added to it, since the bills are piling up. Come on Obama, where’s the health care package when I need it?

A guy that I was talking to laughed when I shared my condition with him as well. “What? A frozen shoulder? Is that like giving someone the cold shoulder, only worse?” Haha, I thought that was witty.

Now, the doctor told me that the best way to deal with this is to ‘manipulate my shoulder under anesthesia. He was going to inject it with cortisone and then manipulate it. I knew that from my limited attempts to try and move it, I would need to be completely out for this procedure.

Well, I awoke with pain, yet nothing as bad as when the anesthesia wore off. That’s when I started to notice the bruises. You could make out the fingerprints and I swear they must have had a team, working me over. I must have also reminded me of their ex wives or someone they clearly had it out for.

“What in the world?” I wondered. This is ridiculous. Just who was in that room? Hmm, I can think of a few people who may have wanted a shot at me and perhaps they paid someone for the opportunity to use me as the punching bag. How would I know? Perhaps some sick, sadistic person or persons, took numbers at the door and had their free shot. Maybe I should ask if they have a video surveillance that I can watch just to see what happened in that room.

I don’t know, but when I saw the doctor a week later, even he was shocked. Hey, if he doesn’t know what happened, I didn’t feel too secure. He looked at all the bruising, and I had way more on the back down my elbow, and said, “what happened?” “Huh? Don’t you know?”

“Ahhh, I remember now. You were the one with the really frozen shoulder.” Well, I said, this looks bad. “Well,” he said, you must start physical therapy immediately or you will have to have this done again!” “Oh no, I’m not! Get me in right now!”

Well the next day I went to a meeting. In this meeting were a few women that had been abused. I felt their stares. Look, I live in Florida and am not about to wear long sleeved shirts, to hide. But at this moment, I almost wished that I had. Such looks of sympathy and I could read their thoughts. “This poor woman, needs to be here. In fact she needed to be here yesterday.” Yes, I knew and as it came time for everyone to introduce themselves, I began, “I know what you’re all thinking and these bruises on my arm are from surgery. ” Oh that’s just great, now I’m thinking they are all looking for the stitches or bandages. “What kind of surgery is this?” I’m sure they’re thinking and “she is in some kind of serious denial.”

So, the next day I had physical therapy with a woman and she was laughing so hard as I recounted the meeting and the way these women reacted to me. Now the girl is massaging my arm so hard, I warned her, “watch it, because when I go in and see these women next week, I am going to have to explain. “Look, these new bruises are from the massage I received.” Oh, I can just see the reactions after this story! “Come on, now she’s saying she got those from a massage? Geesh! Next she’ll come in with a black eye and tell us that the guy gave her a face massage!”

This girl was rolling on the floor as we tried to imagine the sympathy I would receive and the kind words like, “Just be honest and share with us.”

The next day I had a Russian woman and the day after that a Polish woman. Both with thick accents. The Polish woman took my arm and jacked it all the way up until I screamed, “Ouch!” “Your doctor told me to be very aggressive,” she stated, with her strong accent. “Listen, I don’t like that word aggressive, any more than I liked the word, manipulation. Look at what happened after he manipulated me. Those are always negative words.” I told her. She laughed and then grabbed my arm again and aggressively yelled, “Don’t fight me!” Ok, now she was scaring me, since I could see that she was enjoying her wrestling match with my arm.

I came home feeling beaten up and shared the story with my 11 year old son. “Oh yea, I know how that accent sounds. Hey, did she have a mole on her face?” I cracked up at this and said, “Sure and she flew in on a broom!”

I could only imagine what visual he had. Yet I have to admit, this woman did more for my arm than the rest of them. Now I’m starting to believe that this is all about job security. They put you under, beat you up and then send you to therapy to beat you up some more. And then you are so much in pain that you think you must have another doctor look at you and go through the whole thing all over again. They will give you a referral and a coupon for more physical therapy. It all so symbiotic.

I went in to the grocery store and had everyone in produce and the bag boys, helping me. They were drawn to my arm, yet almost afraid to look at me directly. However, they all were so gracious to ask, (with a very sad voice) “do you need any help?” Hmmm, I’m sure they meant, perhaps a restraining order.